


Not All Armor Clatters

by stranestelle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Affectionate Parody, Banter-y, Bromance-y, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Comedy, Gen, Humor, I do mean affectionate tcw is life, I mean it's these two, Leaning on the Fourth Wall, Sort Of, Tumblr Prompt, but like... still very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 05:39:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16235279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stranestelle/pseuds/stranestelle
Summary: Obi-Wan discovers the concept of plot armor, and invites Anakin to play a dangerous game of Utapauese roulette with him.





	Not All Armor Clatters

**Author's Note:**

> combined an original(*?) idea of mine with Celebrate the Clone Wars's Writing Wednesday prompt "All That Glitters". 
> 
> premise loosely adapted from the S6 (unfinished) episode “The Big Bang”. it's basically just a very different-looking hangar, lol.

This was it. He was a dead man.

Or, Anakin was a dead man… as in actually deceased. Sprawled motionless on the hangar floor just a few steps away from the duelists, his lips were starting to grow purple… _maybe._ It was hard to tell whether it was just a trick of shadow from Obi-Wan's angle: also on the floor, a green beam of destructive energy blocking visibility on his right. But he was _probably_ dead, and the master would soon follow the apprentice, in 3, 2, 1…

”I want your death to be as slow, painful, and pitiful as possible. I didn't want to spoil the surprise, but I recently commissioned a completely novel execution method, meant for you and you only, Obi-Wan Kenobi –”

Oh, Grievous was still going? And not only that, he was going to execute him… _later?_ With some cutesy device Obi-Wan could escape from a hundred times over? Not… now? Not with the quickest, most sure-fire tool at his disposal, namely the two lightsabers crossing over his opponent's throat? And here Obi-Wan had thought he had no time to mourn his padawan's death while preparing for his own.

No, wait, his peripheral vision informed him, said padawan was stirring awake. Only – _wait a minute –_

”– and as you rot in the special containment unit I've prepared for you, waiting for the inevitable, we will see how long –” Grievous droned on.

As Anakin was taking his time sorting out his electro-fried brain and concussioned skull (and not even looking their way!), Obi-Wan couldn't help an amused sigh. He was getting a cell, too? A 'special' one? With holonet access and everything? An adjacent fresher? A caf machine? He might as well push his luck and ask for some amenities – because it certainly didn't look like Grievous was in any hurry to do something as strategically sound as, well… kill him.

_bleep_

”Argh!” the droid general growled at the sound of his comlink. It seemed Grievous was, in fact, in a hurry to go and do _something_ , somewhere, as he'd just been reminded. ”Always with these imbeciles, when I'm in the middle of something.”

With a disappointed snarl, Grievous lifted the sabers off his opponent's throat, grabbed Obi-Wan by the arm and shoved him into a cluster of battle droids that had accompanied the General to the hangar. He started barking orders at the yapping and gabbing roger-rogers – _cuff him up, escort him to his cell, don't let him escape_ – while Obi-Wan observed with his eyes narrowed, and the corners of his lips crawling upwards. Always with these imbeciles, indeed: there was always _something_. Grievous was just going to let his prisoner slip through his meatless fingers – and it all felt strangely déjà vu, as though Obi-Wan had been in the exact same position a countless times before. Bested. Captured. At the mercy of the merciless.

Then, all of a sudden, without any explanation, watching the merciless scampering off on all fours, hopping onto an elevator; bending over backwards for excuses not to kill his supposed nemesis. Leaving him in the extremely secure and competent custody of standard B1 battle droids, the same ones he and Anakin had for breakfast every morning. (Quite crunchy, but great with a slither of bantha butter.) 

The Jedi Master was so stunned by this epiphany, he only remembered Anakin as he suddenly heard the younger Jedi's lightsaber igniting somewhere behind the protective wall of B1's, and start to cut smoothly through the sea of mindless, vaguely aggressive programming – no butter needed.

”Good morning, Master,” greeted a cheery, only vaguely groggy voice, as its owner leaped over the falling droid parts and severed his Master's stun cuffs into two useless halves as well. 

Obi-Wan spun around to take in Anakin's perfectly healthy and animated form. About a minute ago he had thought both of them goners – and yet, as he now realized, at no point had he really properly processed the idea of either of them… going. Why? They were Jedi; not invincible nor immortal, and they were in the middle of a seemingly endless war. And had Grievous been smart – which might've been a bit too much to expect – or had his enemy-slaying preferences been a little less centered around the humiliation factor –

And Anakin! The boy had just fallen at least five stories, catapulted off by no less than seven successive electroshocks. Not that Obi-Wan wasn't relieved to see him alright – but the more he thought about it with his head, the more convinced he became that his protégé should have been floating across the deep space as part of the Cosmic Force by now. 

”Anakin, please don't take this the wrong way, but shouldn't you be… dead?”

Anakin narrowed his eyes, grinning with mock indignation, ”Thanks, Master. Had no idea you felt so strongly about that.”

”No, honestly,” Obi-Wan pressed on. ”Try the back of your head. You're not even bleeding?”

At his master's command, Anakin gently pressed his palm on the nape of his neck. ”Ow!” he winced.

”Ow?” Obi-Wan echoed. ”I knew it. You cracked your skull.” 

”No, I fell down, and it kinda hurt,” Anakin clarified. ”Get off my case, you're not helping things.”

”'Kinda' hurt?” Obi-Wan echoed, studying him closer. Now that he thought of it, Anakin had fallen _eight_ stories down just last week, only to land on even rockier a surface – an actual rock, to be specific. And about a month ago, he had been defeated and captured by Dooku – for the third or fourth time altogether – and lived, because something about an elaborate execution at a later time. Not to mention he'd somehow survived yet another frightful helping of the Sith Lord's notorious Force lightning during the ordeal.

And that wasn’t the half of it – this definitely wasn't the first time Obi-Wan had found his throat below a pair of sabers, his supposedly hyper-intelligent enemies making long speeches about the outrageously painful death he'd suffer, instead of actually doing the deed; or his torso in plain view, unarmed and unprotected from blaster fire – the remarkably poorly aimed sort that they had long since grown used to.

”Yeah, 'kinda hurt',” Anakin scoffed. ”It's colloquial speak, translates roughly into 'caused me a moderate amount of pain' in fancypants.”

Anakin was clearly trying to lure him into their usual banter mode, but Obi-Wan ignored him and walked over to the spot where the human lightning rod had landed. It was easy to locate – the floor had cracked open under his weight. As though that wasn't alarming enough, it suddenly hit Obi-Wan that Grievous and at least five dozen B1's, in an equally inexplicable development, had somehow missed Anakin as he had come crashing down and literally wiped the floor with himself. Just how many opportunities, exactly, had the enemy had today, to snuff out the Republic's two best living weapons?

”You don't find this odd?”

”Master, shouldn't we be going after Grievous?”

Anakin had picked up Obi-Wan's lightsaber that Grievous had relieved him of during their duel, and was holding it out to him. He looked disturbed – as though he had dueled Grievous and Obi-Wan had crash-landed and hit his head.

Suddenly all the pieces came together in Obi-Wan's mind, and he grabbed the offered weapon with a little too much enthusiasm. It felt warmer and lighter in his hand than usual. He juggled the saber back and forth between his palms for a while, then raised his eyes to look at Anakin, whose expression betrayed a certain level of dread.

”Anakin, let me just test something.”

Anakin recoiled instinctively.

”W-what, Master?”

Obi-Wan ignited the blade – causing Anakin to start – and stared into the deadly beam for a moment, eyes glazed.

”Anakin, hold still.”

Anakin continued to backpedal, tilting his head in almost amused sort of disbelief.

”Master…”

Obi-Wan calmly advanced on him, knowing his target would soon find his back against a solid surface.

”It's alright, Anakin. You know it won't kill you.”

”Do I?” Anakin questioned, flinching as his back indeed became physically acquainted with a large spacecraft, that wouldn't quite crack open an escape route at this gentle a contact. ”Master, what's going on?”

The blue blade of death was still at almost twice its height's distance from Anakin when Obi-Wan suddenly stopped and snapped his fingers in realization.

”I know,” the Jedi Master said, withdrawing the blade and twirling the neutralized saber in his hand, ”you try it on me.” Anakin nearly toppled over as Obi-Wan tossed his weapon – _his life!_ – at him, rarely having found an _ignited_ lightsaber quite as frightening. The lightsaber made a funny sound as it clattered on the floor, as though offended at being rejected.

”Come on, come at me,” Obi-Wan egged on. ”I'll hold still. See if it even hits me.”

”'See if it even hits me'?” Anakin echoed incredulously, recovering quickly from his newest trauma at the perceived insult of his skill. ”Are you serious?”

”Just do it.”

”Fine!” Anakin yelled. ”If one of us has to go randomly homicidal today…”

Anakin ignited the saber and gave it a little flourish, mocking Dooku's makashi salute.

”Wait!”

The pair turned their heads towards the voice they recognized – yet had never expected to hear again. It was the Son. Having seemingly materialized out of nowhere, the Son's otherworldly, imposing form advanced towards them, reeking of the dark side, overconfidence, and… cautious concern? He looked quite out of place in this very standard, plain sort of hangar on the decidedly unmystical planet of Utapau.

”You!”

”I don't believe this,” Anakin spluttered. ”I killed you.”

The Son sighed. ”Do you really want me to start spouting some generic exposition about how I'm an immortal Force being, and cannot actually die? Haven't you listened to enough monologues today?”

”Fair enough,” Obi-Wan nodded quickly. ”What do you want, Son?”

”Well, Kenobi, I sensed you attacking Skywalker, and then vice versa, and thought, _huh_ , this is a bit premature. So I figured, perhaps if one of you were, once again, under my control, that would provide a convenient–”

”What do you mean, 'premature'?” Anakin echoed, suddenly anxious – or anxious- _er_.

”Never mind that.” The Son stood now dangerously close, but had no weapon drawn – ironically enough – stopping Anakin short of igniting his own. As the Jedi stared, the Son held up a finger as though to signal them to be patient, then delved into the back pocket of his sleek black trousers and produced a pair of something tiny, rounded and yellow. Next thing they knew, he was all up on Anakin's face, trying to shove the rings into his eye.

”Now, to get these contacts fitted…”

”Hey!” Anakin cried, swatting his hand away.

”Hold still,” the Son commanded, already rummaging through another pocket, then suddenly thrusting something scratchy and dusty into Obi-Wan's eye instead. ”For the under-eyes.”

”Stop!” Obi-Wan demanded, coughing away the cloud of dust and dark eyeshadow, and pushing his assaulter and his make-up brush away.

”We're just testing something,” Anakin explained, to Obi-Wan's keen approval. ”No one is actually attacking anyone.”

”Go home, Son,” Obi-Wan ordered. “Grown-ups are talking.”

”Oh, okay,” the Son said, sounding a little embarrassed, if also confused. ”Just be careful, okay?”

With that, the 'immortal Force being' walked through the wall and vanished, muttering something about 'the higher-ups' as he went.

”Okay, I've had enough of this.”

Before Obi-Wan had any time to start conspiracy-theorizing about the Son's sudden and inexplicable appearance, or in any other way completely lose his mind – or even turn around to witness his former padawan losing his – Anakin had already ignited the saber he had been handed and run himself through. Obi-Wan whirled around as he heard the all-too familiar, surprisingly horrifying _phsshwwww_ sound.

”Anakin!” he cried, holding out his arms, preparing to catch a falling body. Anakin had plunged the blade straight through his gut and was gasping silently as he held it in place. ”I told you to stab _me_ with it!”

”No, Master,” Anakin said, ”You told me I wouldn't die.”

With that – still standing firmly on his own two legs – Anakin removed the supposedly lethal part of the saber from the depths of his spine and internal organs, gave it a little whirl in the air – and finally, before Obi-Wan could sense the danger – stabbed it through his Master's forehead.

”And I trusted you,” he added cheerfully. 

Obi-Wan gaped in horror at the blue beam of light shining just inches above his eyes. Suddenly, he seemed to have entirely forgotten just what had compelled him to do an experiment like this in the first place. Their dumb luck? Dooku and Grievous' obvious incompetence? Some sort of morbid curiosity?

Still – _no_ , he had known. Design-wise, it was almost an identical copy of his own lightsaber – which was insulting enough – and it made the same sound, weighed nearly the same, passed off visually as a Jedi Knight's elegant weapon. But something about the saber had felt different. He had just _known._

”What was that Master Qui-Gon used to say,” Obi-Wan began thoughtfully, eyes locked on the saber, as Anakin still refused to withdraw the harmless glorified flashlight from his master's head, apparently finding the situation amusing somehow. ”Not all is kyber that glitters, not all armor clatters, not all your toil… even matters.”

Anakin made a smirk as he finally pulled the very phony saber from his master's brain. ”Wow. Isn't that kinda… cynical of someone like Master Qui-Gon?”

”Perhaps,” Obi-Wan mused, ”but it basically just means 'all is not as it appears on the surface. Do not let yourself be fooled into thinking that something either is what it seems, or isn't what it seems'.”

”Or that your life has any meaning whatsoever. Look, I think your master might've just really liked rhymes.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, a fondness streaking across the corners of his mouth. ”Perhaps.”

”Not all is kyber that glitters…” Anakin mused on the words, and his eyes shot back to the faux weapon. ”Wait, so where is your real lightsaber? And why is there a dud just lying around?”

”It must be one of Grievous'.”

”Right… that wannabe Jedi wouldn't be able to tell the difference.”

”Yes… not to mention he wields multiple lightsabers in battle. If one of them doesn't do damage, he won't even necessarily notice.”

”Well, then your real lightsaber must be with Grievous,” Anakin deduced, and couldn't help but brandish his finger and playfully click his tongue in reproach. ”You know how you always say, 'This weapon is your life'–”

”Yes,” Obi-Wan interrupted, ”but I suppose it is also,” the image of the nightmarish blue beam still haunting him, ”someone else's death.”

”What does that make the fake then, given that it let us live?” 

”A toy, Anakin. _A toy_.”

As they exited the hangar in pursuit of Grievous (whose surprisingly vertically challenged appearance Anakin would not lay his eyes on for at least another year), the Jedi Knights wondered, somewhere in the back of their minds, if they had philosophized about the wrong verse in Qui-Gon's proverb. 

**Author's Note:**

> *no but someone MUST have had this idea before


End file.
